"See, Mr. Frodo? There and back again, just like Mr. Bilbo."

But Frodo stood on the threshold, still holding the brass knob in the center of the door. He was afraid - of what, he didn't know.

After everything he'd faced, how was it that an empty house could terrify him?

"Mr. Frodo?"

During his ordeal, he'd learned a thing or two about facing fear. He forced himself to step past the threshold, walk down the hallway.

He felt like a stranger. An intruder. A ghost. But he forced himself to turn around and smile. "Yes, Sam. We've come home."